


come and lay down your shoulder

by HappyPrincess



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Exes?, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Harry has a praise kink, Hotel Sex, I Don't Even Know, Light Angst, Longing?, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Painplay, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pubes, Sickfic, Touring, again.. depending on your thoughts on H&L, it's more, it's not a sad fic i promise, light humiliation, mention of Harry/omc - Freeform, open relationship?, they both cry at one point tho but because of, they kinda share that though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyPrincess/pseuds/HappyPrincess
Summary: When Harry knocks on the door of Louis’ hotel room, sick with a cold, he has a one-track mind.





	come and lay down your shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> I have a cold and feel disgusting but I'm also horny, so what better way than to channel it into fic? The working title was 'sue me' but it really isn't that extreme, if you ask me. I even managed to keep the angst to a minimum. 
> 
> Title from Orville Peck's Kansas (Remembers Me Now). 
> 
> All the usual disclaimers: Don't know them, don't believe this is Actually Canon, English isn't my first language and this isn't beta-ed or britpicked.

Harry’s head feels like a puzzle of pain. There’s a ringing in his ears, a throb behind his forehead and a strain in his neck. Over the last hours it has travelled down his shoulders, into his legs - even the soles of his feet are sore. One minute he’s burning up, the next he’s shivering and wrapping the duvet tightly around his body. The window is open, but he found the regulator for the heating and cranked it up to a maximum. If he was home, he’d sit in the garden and try to get some fresh air into his smarting lungs. Make some mint tea. Unfortunately, they’re at a hotel, there’s at least a dozen fans lurking around the back entrance, and the tea he ordered from room service tastes artificial and bitter. 

On top of that, he has to reply to several emails. He can’t just turn on the TV and pity himself, has to force his mushed mind to come up with comprehensible sentences and play nice. He’s writing them on his phone because his laptop is making weird noises lately, but the tiny display makes his eyes burn. It’s dropped on his face twice. He can’t win, really. 

Truth be told, he isn’t really trying. They had a show last night and it was raining, obviously the reason why he’s ill. Rain makes it so much harder to stay away from Louis, too. He looked glorious on stage, sopping wet, shirt clinging to his torso. But he also looked adorable today, dressed in comfortable clothing when the five of them had lunch in Zayn’s room and stayed there for most of the afternoon. Harry’s memory can’t really decide if it wants to focus on Louis’ tight nipples behind dripping fabric or Louis’ bum in worn joggers, bouncing when he pinned Liam to the floor and tickled him. Used to be that Harry was the one he’d straddle and torture until he screamed mercy. Now they barely cuddle in front of others. 

He takes another sip of tea to soothe his throat and tries to ignore the longing in his limbs that makes him want to wrap them around a smaller body. It works for a few minutes: he checks his calendar and types out a confirmation of his availability next weekend. However, when he sends the mail, checks it again and realises he forgot to insert the subject matter, he gives up. His phone tumbles to the floor when he throws it towards the armchair by the window. In the Hallway, it’s eerily quiet. 

Louis sighs upon opening the door to him. His hair is slightly greasy, and it makes Harry feel better about his own sweaty state. “I need to use your laptop,” he says, slumping against the doorframe. “Mine’s broken.” 

“Couldn’t you have waited until morning”, Louis complains but steps back and beckons him inside. 

“Vanessa told me to reply to her mails as soon as possible. ‘M already pushing it.” He goes to sit on the bed, absentmindedly noticing the pair of boxers on the floor. The sheets are rumpled, which. Of course. It’s 12pm and they need to be up early in the morning. But there’s also an opened pack of tissues on the sleek bedside table and a bottle of lube next to it. His body can’t really decide if he’s shivering or feeling hot all over. “Sorry for, uhm. Waking you up.” 

“Was taking a shower, actually.”   
So his hair isn’t actually greasy, just wet. Harry doesn’t know why not being able to tell the difference anymore embarrasses him. He collapses onto his back, pressing his palms to his lids. “Wish I could take a bath.” 

The mattress dips next to him, and he hears Louis tapping away on a keyboard. “The bathrooms have tubs.” 

“I know.” 

“Then take a fucking bath, Harry.” 

“What if I drown,” he sniffles and opens his eyes again just in time to see Louis roll his eyes. The shirt he’s wearing is one they share as a band, a simple white tee they pair with skinny jeans on stage. Harry pretends it was the one he wore yesterday. “I can barely walk.” 

It’s just a common cold but he’s not opposed to exaggeration to get someone to coddle him. And right now, he wants someone to rub his shoulders and tell him he’s good. 

Louis scoffs, then shows him the screen. It’s his inbox. Right. They created their accounts in their first flat, came up with their passwords together. “If you want to be bathed, why don’t you ring up that room service guy who gave you his number? Here, write your mail.” 

He pulls the laptop from Louis’ lap and turns onto his front, arches his back, then twists it to loosen up his spine. It evokes a satisfying pop. “Wasn’t interested.” 

“Didn’t seem like it,” Louis says, getting up and searching through his bag by the dresser. He got a tan during the summer and his skin shimmers in contrast to the cotton of the shirt, arms rosy and tattoos swallowing the light as he starts folding socks. It shouldn’t be an erotic sight. 

Harry subtly grinds his hips into the sheet, his cold making him feverish and daring. It’s not just seeing Louis’ bronzed biceps or the curves of his waist shifting under the fabric, it’s his open display of jealousy, too. They agreed not to talk about hook-ups anymore, but they also agreed to stop reaching for the other at odd hours of the day, so he doesn’t point it out. The bottle of lube is directly in his line of vision. “Were you about to get off?” 

He hears a rough intake of breath. “That really is none of your business, is it?” 

Lately, they haven’t been driving through the night, but when they do sleep on the bus it’s very easy to overhear things. There’s an unspoken rule among the five of them that it’s okay to jack off in the bunk beds if they’re quiet about it. There’s not really an option to muffle the sounds of fingers moving in and out of a slick hole, though, not the way Louis does it at least. He starts typing out his next mail. “Could fuck you, if you want.” 

“Harry,” Louis groans behind him. “You’ve pinched your nose three times since you came in. You stink. Germs are probably swarming off of you and into the bed right now. I’m not letting you near my arse.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly convincing, especially not when he knee-walks over to the boxers on the floor, rolls them up and tosses them towards the open bag. The carpet is thin, he’d probably need a pillow for his shins if he’d suck Harry off. For a few seconds Harry is lost in the fantasy, just staring at him from the corners of his eyes, the empty draft of his mail forgotten. Louis notices his stare, raises a brow and scoffs again. His cock swells in his joggers. 

Gingerly, Harry closes the laptop. “Could you rub my back? Feel like a car ran me over. Please?” 

“You are so fucking spoiled,” Louis says, but gets up and goes to stand at the edge of the bed. It’s the wrong thing to say, or the perfectly right one, depending on whether he wants to make Harry shudder and feel like he needs to earn his praise. His nipples feel puffy. 

“I’ll be good, promise.” 

Louis tsks. “Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.” But then he crawls onto the bed and settles on Harry’s bum. It would’ve been pleasant if he wasn’t hard, now it’s just unfair, pushes his cock against the duvet. He moans and earns himself a swat to the back of his head. 

“What the - I have a headache, Lou, don’t-” 

“I _ said _, don’t make this sexual. Now lie down properly and be quiet.” 

Harry obeys, burying his face in his folded arms. He can’t smell anything and his tongue feels thick, throat sensitive when he swallows. The world is muted; his muscles turn into putty beneath Louis’ hands, the walls he carefully builds up around him any other times are scrubbed away, and he couldn’t walk a straight line on his own. He’s forced to go along with everything Louis says. Naturally, it’s arousing. He gets away with soft moans while Louis works on his neck and along his spine, being fairly gentle. His weight is anchoring, even if he’s giving off too much warmth and it’s getting too hot in the room. Or he’s just burning up again. 

“You know,” Louis starts and moves his hand down towards the small of Harry’s back. “If you call Vanessa early in the morning, send her some flowers, maybe she won’t yell at you for delaying that mail.” 

“Don’t wanna call her,” the words come out slow and mumbled. “‘m in a fragile state, Lewis. If she yells at me over the phone, I’ll just start crying.” 

“Thought you’d be an adult about these things by now.” 

There’s no tell in his voice whether it’s deliberately mean, but it’s a delicate issue. All five of them experienced condescension from day one, but Harry always took it more to heart. For someone who likes being babied as much as he does, he hates being perceived as incapable. “Fuck you. I’m-” 

He chokes when Louis pulls at his hair roughly. “Now you’re arguing like a child, too.” 

“Shit, Babe-” Another tug. It’s an entirely different pain to the headache he’s had all day, tingly and refreshing. Louis’ hand is still gripping his curls, so he drops his head, creating tension. It sparks down his body, pools behind his abdomen, surging towards his cock. 

“Open the laptop again,” Louis scoots back onto his thighs and Harry whines. “Write that mail and I’ll let you finger me a little.” Then he digs his small, nimble fingers into a spot on his back, where he knows it hurts most, and Harry can’t help but fuck his hips forward again. He wants to flip them around and press their mouths together. The only reason he doesn’t is because they’re supposed to be recording tomorrow and one of them with a shot voice is enough. Even if Louis sounds extra beautiful when he’s hoarse. 

“Can we compromise? No mail and I wank you off?” This time, there’s a swat at his arse. 

“Don’t be so fucking sulky, Jesus. Write the damn thing.” 

Harry takes a deep breath, lifts onto his elbows and reaches for the laptop. As soon as he’s logged into his account again, blinking at the bright screen, Louis goes back to massaging him, this time kneading in broad strokes. It rucks up Harry’s shirt and he suppresses a gasp as the air hits his sweaty skin. His head is getting dizzy again, waves of hot and cold going through him. The image of fucking Louis until he cries won’t leave his mind. There’s no way he can write a professional email like this. Short sentences will have to do. 

“Just ‘regards’?”, Louis comments after a few minutes. “What happened to England’s politest popstar?” 

“He’s currently dying of a fever. And dying to make a cute boy come.” 

Louis cackles, the first reaction tonight that isn’t on a scale from annoyance to mockery and it makes Harry’s heart swell. Then he gets another jab into the knot by his spine. “Why don’t you write that as the subject? C’mon, hurry up. I’m getting tired of treating you like a princess.” 

“Your princess,” he mutters and sends off the mail. There are at least three more he should write, but Louis doesn’t know that so he shuts off the laptop for the final time, placing it on the floor. 

They end up with Louis on his back, legs thrown over Harry’s shoulders. It’s probably undoing all the massaging and it’s definitely not helping with his urge to kiss, but it allows him to see Louis all spread out for him. They both lost their shirts, naked skin exposed in the dim light of the room. He goes to lick at his bellybutton, only to have his curls yanked again. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Let me-” 

“I don’t wanna end up sick just because you have an oral fixation. Fingers only.” 

Harry glares at him. He doesn’t have any insecurities about his fingering skills, but he’s good with his tongue, loves having his mouth filled just as much as Louis likes feeding him his cock or pressing his face into his arse. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Babe... you’re eating your vegetables and drinking your Big Boy Juice, right?” 

He starts giggling before finishing the remark, wiggling to get away from Louis’ fingers and get the lube. The movements bring their hips together, cocks aligning through layers of fabric. If they don’t get on quickly, he’s just going to come into his pants. 

“Gonna give you my Big Boy Juice,” Louis grumbles and loosens the tie of his joggers, pushing them down. He’s not wearing underpants. His pubes are neatly trimmed, edges so neat he must have done it in the shower earlier. 

Harry’s mouth fills with saliva. “Thought you didn’t want to let me blow you,” he says quietly, tracing a finger from one side of Louis’ hips to the other. He settles onto his stomach, looking up with a pout. 

“Thought you had a headache.” 

He does. It has subsided a little, more of a pressure on his temples by now, but it throbs as much as his cock does when he encircles Louis’ dick and gives it a light squeeze. Louis has such a pretty cock. Pink and veiny. A perfect fit for Harry’s hand, smooth after he uses some of the lube and starts stroking properly. 

Louis squirms a little, putting his feet flat on the mattress. The ends of his hair have begun to dry, gently following the slope of his forehead. He adjusts his fringe and licks his lips. “You know... maybe, if you’d lick me out chances aren’t as high as-” 

“Don’t fucking tease,” Harry says, grabbing the lube again and warming it up between his fingers. “You talk so much shit.” 

“Well, go on and shut me up then,” he hooks a hand around his own thigh to grant Harry access to his puckered hole. He’s clean shaven and soft, smelling of vanilla scented lotion. This time when Harry leans forward, he’s not stopped. He presses his nose into Louis’ pubes, his mind slowing down even more. God, he loves this. Loves the scrape on his cupid’s bow, loves being close to him, loves feeling him tremble under his lips, loves tasting him. He drags his tongue over his shaft, pulling down his foreskin with his thumb, then catches the pre-come forming at the tip. Just when he sucks it into his mouth, he circles one finger around Louis’ hole. The answering whimper is as invigorating as the hand tugging at his hair. 

He doesn’t swallow him down, keeps suckling while he gently pushes the digit inside, his dick twitching when he feels how hot and tight he his. As much as he would like to drag this out forever, he knows if he’s fast about making Louis come and keeps blowing him, he might make him orgasm again. And that would probably make him tear up a little, which is always a stunning sight to behold. “If I promise to make you come twice, will you let me fuck you?” 

Louis laughs, light and breathy among his high-pitched moans. “Are you sure you can focus long enough for that?" 

He pinches him and gets up on one elbow. “Watch me.” On the next thrust, he makes it two fingers. Then he presses one hand onto Louis’ tummy to keep him still and begins fucking him deeply, searching for his spot and pressing into it. Louis yanks so hard on a curl, Harry’s vision turns white for a moment. There’s a wet spot in his pants, he can feel it whenever he grinds into the mattress. He goes back to mouthing all over Louis’ cock and inhaling his scent. Then he decides they’ve been ignoring their rules anyway, him knocking at the door at this hour, Louis asking about that guy who gave him his number. So he starts sucking a mark into his skin, right where his thigh meets his hip. 

“F-fuck,” Louis moans, heels of his feet digging into Harry’s back. “You’re really desperate today, aren’t you? Felt a little lonely?” 

Why is he still _talking_. His thighs are quivering and his breathing is ragged, his eyes glassy, and he still fucking talks about Harry needing it so much he barged in with an excuse. It’s not wrong, but still. “I don’t-” 

“Didn’t even try to be subtle about it.” 

Harry doesn’t want to give him more ammunition, so he doesn’t reply, goes back to his cock, drooling all over it. It gets him so wet, glistening. His own knuckles are slick, some of it lube, making it easier to curls his fingers around the base of his dick and inside of him. He wishes he could take him down his throat, but it’s so sore he doesn’t even dare to swallow his own spit. Louis starts squirming more and more and that’s why Harry isn’t surprised when he bats his hand away and strokes himself, faster and more determined. 

He straightens his spine, watched Louis’ face while he jacks himself off and has his hole stuffed with Harry’s fingers. His head is thrown back, exposing the unmarked bend of his neck, sweat gathering between his collarbones. The curves of his body twist and convulse, stomach trembling, small nipples pink and taut. “Can you – Harry, can you, please-” 

Immediately, he understands. He knows what Louis needs, can give him that and more, so he concentrates on making the thrusts of his fingers rapid and rough, spreading them, so Louis can feel the stretch. It elicits a string of whines that get higher and higher until Louis is just panting through his open mouth, occasionally biting his lips. Then all of him tenses up, he tugs on Harry’s hair again, and comes, some of it escaping his tight fist and ending up on his belly. 

Harry doesn’t stop playing with him. Keeps the tips of his fingers on his spot, crooking them. Louis’ leg spasms and knocks him on the side of the head. “Fuck, fuck, okay, gimme a break,” Louis says, taking deep, visible breaths. “You can fuck me, but-” 

“Please.” He groans and sinks his teeth into his thigh. 

“_But only _, if you don’t get near my face, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he promises, carefully pulling out. “Gonna fuck you on all four, keep you full. D’you have a condom?” 

It’s in the bag, and before he gets it, he gets rid of his remaining clothes, arching his body to loosens up his muscles again. Louis’ bum is perfect in his hands, round and flushed, cheeks bouncing when he gives them a light slap. His rim is pink and shiny and Harry can’t help but finger him some more, despite knowing he’s stretched and ready. It’s when he puts on the condom, and lubes himself up that he realises his headache has dulled to a low pressure on his ears, eyes burning less now that they’re teary with want. He set out to make Louis cry, but maybe it’s him who is going to do it first, cutting off a sob when he pushes into his heat. It’s all encompassing, he’s sweating properly now, feverishly waiting for Louis’ approval to move. 

Their legs are pressed up against each other, his between Louis’ strong thighs, spreading them apart so he’s forced to lean on his elbows and Harry has a reason to grip his waist, steading him. It makes him go mad, seeing his own hands on his back, thumbs digging into the dimples above his bum. “Lou, can I -” 

“Wait, wait,” Louis huffs, rubbing his face into the pillow. “Haven’t had you in me for ages, need to give me a second.” 

“Too big?” Harry asks, knowing that he can barely conceal the smirk in his voice. 

“Yeah, you fuckhead, you are. What a shame you don’t know what to do with it.” 

He frowns, affronted, but understands it’s the go-ahead he’s been waiting for. Slowly, he pulls back, watching his dick appear, then grinds forward. He keeps an idle rhythm, torturing himself as much as he wants to give Louis time to adjust. One hand clutching his waist still, he sneaks the other around to see if he’s still hard, giving him a satisfied squeeze. “You love this so much,” he whispers, in awe. “Love being stuffed with my cock.” 

Louis’ laugh breaks on a moan, his spine bends as he buries his head in his crossed arms. “You’re so fucking obsessed with your own dick, I swear to-” 

Harry fucks in a little harder, angling his hips in a way that he knows should shut him up. He’s right. For a long time the only sounds in the room are their laboured breathing and the slaps of skin on skin, hoarse moans every other second. The air feels humid but he knows it must be his own perception, can feel shivers shaking his body every now and then. 

They don’t do this often anymore, not just because they’re on tour, but because it’s difficult being inside him and not wanting to have him all to himself, completely and continually. All the reasons for their distance, their rules, their precautions escape his mind, muddy as it already is. When Louis’ arms give out, crumbling to his front, he follows him, draping himself over his back, sweat sticky between them. He strokes his cock, the mix of spit, lube and come easing the glide. It must be intense, so close after an orgasm and his own dick throbs in sympathy. If this was the other way around, he’d be begging by now. 

Louis only cries out beautifully, pliant under Harry’s hands. His hair, now dry, but plastered to his head, tickles Harry’s nose. He presses him flat into the sheets, scrambling to intertwine their hands above Louis’ head. “God,” he rasps, licking at his jaw. “Love this so much. Love-. Love this.” 

Embarrassment washes over him, another hot wave straight towards his cock. He’s so pathetically obvious, can’t hold back, always running towards Louis when he needs affection. But he keeps going, couldn’t stop, especially not when he isn’t the only one completely unravelled. Louis’ nods are jerky, his eyes are closed, and he brings Harry’s knuckles towards his lips, mouthing along them. “Love having you in me.” 

“Yeah?”, he buries the words into Louis’ neck. 

“Course, always.” 

The words bounce around in his head, making him shove harder; he can barely breathe. Something coils in his lower belly. He keeps kissing along Louis’ neck and jaw, nibbling at his ear, and he taste his tears before he sees them. “You okay, Baby?” 

An affirmative hum. “Feels so fucking good. Want – want you.” 

“How do you want me?”, he asks quietly, snapping his hips, pivoting them. 

“Just -”, Louis sucks in two of his fingers, voice muffled. “You.” 

Harry sobs, driving into him uncontrollably, and then he feels his orgasm crashing down, filling the condom. It’s only when he recovers from the cramp in his muscles, that he realises he’s sunk his teeth into Louis’ neck. It’s going to leave a mark, a prospect that makes his cock pulse in an aftershock. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Louis whines, raising his bum and clench around him. “Gimme-” 

He does his best to obey him, hoping he has a few moments before he softens, eyes watering at the overstimulation. They are both full on crying, mouths wet and nearly touching. In the end, it’s Louis who kisses him. Harry pounds into him, sneaks a hand around his body, to give his cock a place to fuck into, and it must be in perfect synchrony, because Louis whimpers, twists his neck, and sucks on Harry’s lower lip. He is shaking while he comes, pulsing in Harry’s fist, messing up the sheet. It’s probably a bit unsatisfying for him when Harry pulls out, but he tries to make it up to him by licking into his mouth and stroking a soothing finger over the back of his hand. He can barely taste him, senses numb, and he remembers he’s contagious. 

“Shouldn’t,” he tries to reason and lifts off him, his mind dazed. He gets rid of the condom, aiming for the bin by the bedside table. His legs are too weak for him to stand up. 

Louis rolls onto his back and locks his arms around Harry’s neck, reeling him in. “Too late now. Just kiss me.” 

They snog for ages, come, tears, sweat and lube drying between them. Now that his craving for touch and comfort has been fulfilled, his body cools down and the shivers are back. Louis notices and throws the duvet around them, hooking his ankles over Harry’s calves. “Next time,” a peck to his lips. “You just ask when you need me to take care of you. I can’t stand it when you pretend like we don’t... like I don’t know you through and through.” 

Harry caresses his temple, watching his glossy blue eyes. “Didn’t want to assume.” 

Louis scoffs, but he smiles right after, the edges of his lips sore and his skin glowing. “You knew exactly I was going to let you fuck me, eventually.” 

“Well... I was hoping for it.” They grin at each other. He puts his face in the juncture between Louis’ neck and shoulder. “No, but... I, uhm. You’re still the first person I think of when... you know.” 

Instead of making it about the fuck or the email, Louis combs through his curls, shushing him. “I know, Babe.” 

Harry breathes him in, trying to get to his scent, but his nose is too clogged. It makes him want to cry again. That, or the tenderness with which Louis massages the back of his neck, presses kisses to his cheek. A whisper: “How about we take a bath. And then I’ll help you with those mails in the morning. Yeah?” 

He squeezes him around the waist, trying to convey his gratitude through touch. They stumble into the bathroom, cuddling close while they wait for the tub to fill, washing each other with a cloth. Afterwards, he curls up and sinks into Louis’ body, letting himself be held despite the alternating surges of heat and shivers. Just before he drifts off into sleep, Louis’ hand comes to rest over his heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope this wasn't too obnoxious/sappy.  
tumblr is @pattern-pals, please send me get well wishes 😭


End file.
